


Divine Intervention (The Long and Overly Complicated Tale of How Warden Amell Became Inquisitor)

by dolly_doodle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward situations, But more on that later, Demons, Depression, F/F, F/M, Family moments, Friendship, IT'S LONG, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Nightmares, Past Relationship(s), Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Warden Inquisitor, Webs of lies and misunderstanding, also baggage, and it's in the title, and lots of it!, drunken encounters, it's compicated, new relationships, tearful reunions, the Old God soul, warden takes the final blow but lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 06:32:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10893693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolly_doodle/pseuds/dolly_doodle
Summary: This is the grand and almost impossible tale of Monique Amell. The girl who time forgot, but history remembered.The Warden who slew the Archdemon, ending the Fifth Blight and become known as The Hero Ferelden. As time went on she would be known by other such names: The Dragon of the South, The Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor Amell, and finally The Hero of the South.There are plenty of good places to start, but I think for the best effect, we'll start on that fateful day she slew the Archdemon. The day she died.





	1. Chapter 1

** The Hero’s Ballad ** 

**(As Sung by Lady Nightingale)**

** =+=+=+= **

The dragon reared fretfully as the serrated blade pierced its hide. Monique groaned at the assault on her ears, struggling to keep her footing as the beast thrashed about, but despite the difficultly she pressed the arcane blade deeper into its flesh. This would be it, the blade that slayed the Archdemon and in turn herself.

She had nothing left to lose and the safety of humanity to gain. This drove her forward and she pulled the blade from its neck with the intention of casting the final blow, but just as she raised it above her head, the dragon threw her from its neck with a violent shake.

Monique tumbled, her body bruising from the force of the throw, but the adrenaline pumping through her veins kept her will strong as she pushed herself shakily to her feet. Holding a bleeding arm, she watched as the Archdemon limped and rolled about in its fatally injured state. But the blasted thing kept fighting and so long as it drew breath, the Darkspwan would continue to fight. Her staff, once strapped to her back, laid in pieces at her feet destroyed in the fall and her blade too was lost when she was thrown. Weaponless, but not ready to back down, the Warden scoured the roof, catching a glimpse of a long blade, clean and almost glowing among the carnage. She moved with a calculated swiftness as she took a firm hold of the sword and charged the beast with the last ounce of strength she could muster.

Despite her inexperience with such heavy weaponry and clumsy aiming of the long blade, the sword pierced the dragon's head with a mighty crunch as it cut through the scales and bone. Tainted blood spewed from the wound, a sickening squelch sounding as it splattered onto the cobblestone. Monique twisted the hilt, pulling, and pushing when met with resistance, the ringing in her ears overriding the sounds of the gore. As though she struck gold, a bright light fought its way to the surface from the depths of the Archdemon’s head, exploding with a massive force that would've thrown her back had she not gripped the sword so tightly. The light was blinding and the ringing in her ears kept growing until she was deaf to everything else.

The mage kept her eyes shut tight until the light faded and the ringing finally subsided. When she dared to open her eyes, she beheld the Archdemon's body, limbs twitching weakly before going completely still.

Breathing labored, Monique's legs trembled and buckled beneath her as she clutched the hilt of the sword weakly with bleeding knuckles to keep her upright. As the sounds of fighting began to wane, she waited. One count, then three, but there was nothing; No pain other than the ache in her bones from exertion. No blackness and no bright light. She still lived, miraculously she continued to draw breath and her heart continued to beat. No, no that wasn’t possible… that shouldn’t have been possible! She opened her eyes slowly, blood, there was so much blood pooling on the floor and she could feel the heat leaving the dragon’s corpse. “Impossible…” she whispered, her hands now loosening their grip on the stationary blade as she stumbled backward.

It was a miracle, she lived when the body of the Archdemon was growing cold, but that wasn’t possible. A Grey Warden’s duty ends here, _her_  duty ends here. If she wasn’t dead…  _What did it take to kill this thing?_

"Damnit," she bit weakly, "Why won’t you die?!"

And as she keeled in the shadow of the beast with a wavering battle still waging around her, a deep seeded rage built in her gut, igniting the magic in her blood. She felt it build and pulse through her and -despite the warnings of all her mentors- let it consume her.

Her eyes went wide and white as she stood up, the air around her twisting like a vortex, and with an enraged scream she raised up her fists and slammed them against the Archdemon’s skull. Lightning erupted from her like a mass aura, the tempest brightening the night sky a second time as all those undead who littered the roof were turned to ash and then to dust. The lightning stretched out far beyond the fort's reach and danced across the sky like a whip as it thundered with an ear shattering volume.

All those below felt the fury of the storm and began to tremble with fear, but only the darkspawn horde took it as their signal to retreat. The undead swarm turning tail and fleeing as though they had the ability to feel fear. The gathered armies raised their swords in glee at the sight, all races forgetting their prejudice for one blissful moment as humans embraced dwarves and elves alike, sparing no pause to distinguish whether they were magic bearers or not. Only caring that they were alive and that they had all won.

However, there were a few who dared not bask in the glory of their victory and instead raced to the fortress with all the strength they had left. Their feet banging on the cobblestone steps of the fortress as they collectively barreled their way to the top.

The sight that greeted them was grim indeed as ash crushed underfoot along with burnt weapons and charred bones. The only thing preserved was the body of the massive dragon, but even it had been reduced to nothing but a blacked skeleton.

Among the ash and blood, small bits of a singed of a blue and purple robe were uncovered along with the broken pieces of a familiar staff and a seared, but otherwise undamaged arcane blade.

No other traces found of Grey Warden Monique Amell, not even by her closest companions.

** =+=+=+= **

 

Ferelden mourned the loss of many that day, but all felt the loss of Warden Amell.

After his coronation, King Alistair had a ceremony to honor the fallen Warden, where he made two decrees that would forever mark the new age. The first was that the land of Highever, previously owned by Arl Howe, would be given to the Grey Wardens where they could rebuild their lost order. The second was that a new circle tower would be erected and would bear Monique's name. The new instated circle mages would also be granted autonomy. Much to the dismay and relief of Templars and mages alike.

Though never officially decreed a massive statue of a Warden Amell was also built outside of the Highever Warden base, to honor all of the fallen Wardens and Monique's final and great sacrifice. Another smaller, but no less grand statue of a Griffon was placed in the heart of Redcliff dedicated specifically to Grey Warden Monique Amell: The Hero of Ferelden. Many saw this as token of their gratitude for not only ending the Blight, but also defending Redcliff in its darkest hour. Others suspect it is the works of a grieving heart, for many rumors still stand to this day claiming that the Hero of Ferelden was involved with King Alistair in those early days of the fifth Blight.

Whatever the reasons may have been, this was a tragic, but honorable end to the Hero’s tale. For what greater mark of heroism is there beyond self-sacrifice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ("You've really got to give Leliana some credit. Even before she knew, she knew.")
> 
> "She's always been like that. Did I ever tell you about the time Leliana guessed my entire hand correctly in a game of Diamond Back?"
> 
> ("No! Can we add that in?")
> 
> "No."


	2. Chapter 2

** The Hero's Tale ** 

**(As Told By Warden Amell)**

** =+=+=+= **

Her heartbeat hammered in ears as she ran, but nothing could quite overrun the white noise of panic and fear that sounded in her mind. Everything was foggy as adrenaline pumped through her veins. Faces passed her in a blur, though no one seemed to be bothered by her hurry, all of them too busy celebrating to notice anything beyond victory.  
  
She didn't slow her pace, even when the docks of the city came into view. Her eyes scanned the harbor, there was only one ship she could see, a small merchant vessel with only three men focused solely on loading their cargo. Perfect.  
  
Not bothering with a calm facade, she ran at the man she assumed to be the captain, barely slowing, and running into the man, who caught her by her forearms. "Maker's beard," He cried in surprise. "Are you all right, love?"  
  
"I need to leave!" She said between ragged breaths and gasps.  
  
The man looked at her with wide eyes and she see him progressively becoming more nervous as he took in her ragged appearance and bloody clothing. Despite this, he tried to smile at her. "I don't think we're going the same way."  
She clenched her jaw before digging the pack she carried with her, pulling a small, but clearly full coin purse from its contents. She fixed him with a look of desperation as she took his hand and pressed the purse into his hesitant hands. "Wherever you're going is fine with me."

** =+=+=+= **

 

The sea was calm, a rather fitting irony as those aboard the vessel all felt rather tense about their new passenger. They hadn't been at sea for very long and their "guest" clearly had never been at sea at all.  
After tripping over her feet a few times and looking more like a new fawn than a young woman she was, she had settled herself at the bow of boat and clung to the sides as she looked out at the sea. She kept to herself for many hours, quiet and contemplative.  
  
"Here." The captain said suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts causing her to jump a little. She looked at his hands, which held a fresh pair of clothes and a clean rag.  
  
"Thank you." She said, taking the items carefully and offering him a soft smile. "That's very kind of you."  
  
The captain shrugged. "That was quite a bit of coin you handed me, lass. It would be rude of me not to offer you at least something."  
  
"Still," she insisted. "You have my thanks."  
  
He nodded, smiling as he sat down not far from her, but still allowing her space. "Forgive me if I am too forward, but what might I call you?"  
  
She seemed surprised by the question, but did not hesitate. "My name is Monique, it's a pleasure to meet you, ser...?  
  
"Lestand, my lady, Felix Lestand and I am at your service of course." He said with gusto.  
  
Monique chuckled at his posturing, "Well met." Her smile stayed put, but she cocked her head curiously. "So, tell me, Lestand, where do you hail from?"  
  
The captain blinked and began to laugh wildly. Monique bristled though she did not chastise him. "Forgive me," he said after a drawn-out series of gasps and chuckles. "But, why ask about my story when clearly yours is far more interesting? I mean, you ran from a land that had just tasted victory! Everyone was celebrating while all you wanted to do was leave. That raises a lot of questions, miss."  
  
The woman frowned, color flooding her fair cheeks and she pushed her black hair out of her eyes uncomfortably. "My story is terribly long." She muttered, holding the clothes tightly to her.  
  
Felix chuckled. "This isn't the longest voyage in the world, but a few weeks’ worth of sea is enough to make any sailor hungry for a good tale."  
  
Monique looked at him for a long moment, she could lie, fabricate an intricate tale that never took place. However, all she really wanted was a listening ear. She breathed a sigh, her shoulders slumping just slightly. "I suppose the best place to start is the day of my Harrowing."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ("Are you sure about this third-person stuff, bells? Normally memoirs are done in first person.")
> 
> "Perhaps, but I'm not writing it, you are. Therefore it is more of a Biography, yeah?"
> 
> ("That's... a pretty solid point, actually. Third person it is!")


	3. Chapter 3

**A Clean Slate**

**(As Clean As It Could Be, Anyway)**

** =+=+=+= **

There was something unnerving about this forest. Perhaps it was the way the tree branches seemed to slither into one another, creating a canopy of snarled twigs and curling leaves. Maybe it was the gigantic knots in the trunks that oozed sap like a bleeding blister. Or more likely it was the low and unnatural howl of the wind as it brushed through the twisted flora and seemed to penetrate her very bones.

She shuddered, but pressed on with carefully calculated steps, afraid to step on a twig for fear she alert whatever was lurking in these feral woods. Taking deep breath, she assessed her surroundings with a quivering lip and building panic. She was lost, she had to be, but where was she even trying to go?

_“Mortal.”_

Her blood turned to ice as something hissed behind her, its breath hot and wet. She wanted to scream, oh Maker, she wanted to cry for help, but she must have swallowed her tongue for not even a squeak left her trembling lips.

It chuckled, a deep and chilling sound that seemed to snap her out of her trance as adrenaline flooded her system and she bolted down the overgrown path. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she ran further into the woods, branches reaching out and clawing at her flesh when she passed.

Despite her efforts to escape she could feel the haunting presence growing closer and closer, she pushed her legs to go faster, her lungs crying for the air that burned her lungs like fire and she cried out as a wayward root threw her to the ground. Tears welled in her eyes as pain and fear coursed through her veins and settled in her stomach like a boulder. She tried to push herself to her feet as she heard the crunching of approaching footsteps. A shadow fell over her and her heart stuttered painfully before-

_“LAND HO!”_

Monique jerked awake, vertigo hitting her violently and causing her to groan as she rolled over slowly. She blinked blearily at the glaring sun overhead and rubbed her eyes with an aggravated hiss.

“Finally got enough beauty rest there, lass?” A sailor said with a snicker.

“Get bent, Richard.” She snapped with a grunt as she struggled to stand. She hadn’t had any decent sleep in days, the dreams becoming more vivid and terrifying every time she closed her eyes. It was like something was trying to- _No._ She shook her head, she shouldn’t focus on it too much, she might draw whatever it is out. “Are we there yet?”

Richard nodded with a satisfied smirk, “Aye, there she is.”

Monique peered off into the distance, a large statue of a man cowering and shielding his eyes came into view and she frowned in distaste. “The rest of the city doesn’t have statues like that, does it?”

The sailor laughed heartily at her discomfort. “Oh, if that rattles your bones, you’re going to have a right fit when you see the rest of that hell-hole!”

“Looking forward to it.” The mage grumbled to herself, reaching down to gather her belongings.

“I still don’t get it,” another said as he pulled the ropes tight on his sails, preparing to dock his small vessel, “The Blights over, so why are you leaving Ferelden now?”

Pulling her cloak closer to her, Monique mumbled her reply. “My reasons are my own.”

The captain walked by then, giving the sailor a small shove. "Eye, quit poking around where you're not wanted, Charlie. Wouldn't want her airing your dirty laundry now would you?" He said, but Charlie shrugged not bothered by his captain's reprimands. "Just odd is all." He said, "No offense, love." he said to Monique with a charming grin that she paid no mid to. "None taken." She said honestly.

Simple instructions were the only thing said as the small ship pulled into the docks and Monique prepared for her departure. “Hey,” Felix said when she threw her pack over her shoulder. “Stay safe out there, ya’ hear? It’s a rough place, Kirkwall, but it ain’t unlivable.”

With a warm, but weary smile Monique nodded her head. “You too, Felix. Thanks for the ride.”

“Anything for 50 silvers, love.” He chuckled, sending her a mock salute as she stepped off onto the Kirkwall docks.

With heavy feet, she trudged forward, pulling the cloak closer to shield her from the icy sea air. Guards watched her warily as she walked past, they didn’t get many refugees these days, but the influx of Ferelden citizens in the past year still left many of the locals with a sour taste in their mouth. Monique paid their looks no mind, traveling around with a bounty on your head numbs one to such things. The important thing was that they allowed her entry, perhaps grudgingly, but none the less they waved her past.

The streets of Kirkwall were paved and busy, merchants clamoring for passers to buy their wares, while business men and women rushed about from place to place with heavy coin purses, and of course the occasional stray pickpocket that wove through the streets with quick hands and quicker wit.

A bubble of anxiety rose in her chest at the sight, but she ignored it as she pulled the hood lower to better obscure her face. She melted into the crowd, quickly learning the paces of traffic, and allowing them to lead her deeper into the city. Different sights slipped past her, names painted onto to carts and signs, as well as landmarks of varying beauty, though some of their depictions deeply disturbed her. She also listened closely to snippets of conversation of passing nobles and common-folk alike. The name “Hawk” left a few different lips, but couldn’t be properly placed in the commotion of voices and thus Monique filed it away should it become relevant later. 

Eventually the warden approached her destination and found herself frozen in awe as she took in the intimidating splendored of Kirkwall’s Chantry. It glowed in the dying sun, the spires reaching forever upward as its massive shadow seemingly stretched over the entire city. Taking a deep breath, she began to climb the steps. When she finally reached the towering doors, she gave them a hardy push and was once again was overwhelmed by the grandeur of the cavernous Cathedral. “Maker’s breath.” She whispered, clutching her bag tightly as she tried to take it all in. She imagined the other patrons must have found her odd or childish for her awe, but she couldn’t help herself, she had never seen anything so exquisite in her entire life! If this was their Chantry, she couldn’t even begin to imagine what the palace must have look like.

“Can I assist you, child?”

Monique jumped and turned around sharply. Standing not three feet from her was an elderly woman, with pale eyes that held a warmth only a mother could as she smiled at the girl. Her hair was pulled back neatly and her robes were vivid and fine in both color and sheen. Again, Monique felt her shoulders tensing as she swallowed thickly. She felt so out of place here, and was really beginning to miss the humility of Ferelden’s rustic décor. Sensing her discomfort, the woman’s eyes softened further. “No need to be frightened, child, my name is Elthina. Did you need something?”

“I-I, um,” She fumbled before clearing her throat. “I was looking for the Templars.”

Her Grace frowned, a look of puzzlement gracing her aging face. “Whatever for, my dear?”

Looking carefully to the side, Monique whispered lowly to the Elthina, “I’m a mage here on transfer. I’m afraid I got a little lost on my way over.” She lied smoothly.

Though alarmed, The Grand Cleric did not react harshly to this new information. “I see.” She muttered calmly and gently guided Monique to the second floor of the Chantry to where two Templars stood diligently. Monique could feel them watching her as they approached, though she didn’t know what to make of their looks.

“Gentlemen, this woman says she’s a transfer. Could you please escort her to the Circle of Magi?” Elthina asked kindly.

The Templars exchanged looks, “Transfer?” one balked, “I thought we weren’t expecting any transfers until next month?”

“Probably slipped through the system, again. Damn Clerks, you’d think they’d be able to handle a few phylactery shipments.”  The other grumbled with a shake of his head before he gestured for Monique to follow him, “This way, mage. The First Enchanter is busy with other Circle affairs at the moment, but we’ll see that your transfer goes as smoothly as possible.” He said rather grudgingly.

Bowing politely, Monique began to follow. “Thank you and I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” She said, clearly stumping the Templar as he stopped and stared at her for a moment before he cleared his throat uneasily. “R-right. No, uh, no harm done.” He muttered and began to walk forward again as she easily fell into step with her escort.

** =+=+=+= **

“A Transfer?” A Tranquil asked without looking up from her record book. “I was not informed of any transfers to our circle, nor have I received any new Phylacteries in our storage facility.”

The Templar let out an aggravated huff, his armor rattling with the swing of his arms. “Well, she didn’t fall out of the sky! Now did she?”

“No, the likelihood of such a thing is extremely low.” The Tranquil clerk replied again, much the to the man’s chagrin. “Then she must be on someone’s records if she isn’t an apostate!” He cried, throwing his arms into the air.

Monique reached out, touching the Templar’s shoulder gently, he jerked at the forwardness of the gesture, but said nothing. “She’s only doing her job, Ser.” She said calmly, “I can handle it from here.”

“But-!” He started, sending another look at the clerk’s blank expression before he sighed and took his leave.

“Forgive him, he wasn’t prepared for my arrival either.”

The clerk watched her evenly. “I do not have the capacity to be offended by his comments.”

Monique blinked, in her time away from the circle she had almost forgotten the blunt nature of the mages made Tranquil. “Ah, right.” She said awkwardly, shifting her feet as she looked around. It was then she noticed how many hands were working at the desks. “Are all of you Tranquil?” She asked curiously. To which the clerk responded with a simple, “Yes.”

 _Odd_ , she thought, she didn’t remember quite this many Tranquil back home. Although this seemed like a bigger circle, maybe it just seemed like more. Though something told her that wasn’t the case.

“This way,” The Tranquil said suddenly after making a note in her books. “I will call for the Head Enchanters.” The clerk then began to shuffle away, leaving Monique to, once again follow.

As they passed through the halls of the tower, the warden began to feel just a little more at ease. Though the stone seemed more polished and she detected more presence of silk, the tower that housed the Circle of Magi held that familiar thrum of magic that reminded her of home. She kept that feeling close to her as they climbed the steps of the tower and approached a small gathering of Mages on the upper floors.

“So, this is the Transfer we heard about?” One of the older men said as they approached, two women at his side tittering loudly. Monique rubbed her arms as she tried to suppress a shiver, word certainly traveled fast around here, alarmingly so. Were there no secrets in this tower?

One elven woman stepped forward, looking in her mid to late thirties, and crossed her arms. “Thank you, Cecil, we’ll take it from here.” She said and the Tranquil, Cecil, bowed her head respectively before she turned around and began to descend the tower’s steps. The Enchanter then turned her focus back to the new arrival. “Welcome to the Kirkwall circle, my name is Enchanter Lelani. Do you have a name, friend?”

“My name is Monique. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She said with a practiced ease.

Lelani quirked a brow, “What about a last name? We may have to check on the transfer of your records.”

Monique choked, her records? Did those records still exist after she became a Grey Warden? If they didn’t, would they assume she died? Or perhaps they would see she wasn’t _actually_ put on Transfer list and send her back to Ferelden? Either way, if they tried to pull those records she’d never see the interior of the Circle’s library! She searched her mind quickly, a name displayed in the city suddenly flew out of her lips. “Trevlyan.”

The gathered enchanters all seemed to balk collectively. “Trevlyan?” One woman piped up, “I thought they hadn’t had any mages in their line since the Blessed Age?”

“Probably a more distant relative. A thirty sixth cousin or other.” The man remarked with a dismissive wave and a roll of his dark eyes. “You know how those nobles will do anything to hang onto a royal name.”

“In any case, they hail from Ostwick, what is a Trevlyan mage doing in Kirkwall?”

The Enchanters began to huddle, obscuring their faces from Monique, but not bothering to lower their voices as they debated with one another.

 “She said she was a transfer, maybe her records from Ostiwick are being delayed?”

“I suspect she is less of a transfer and more of a runaway. I bet she slipped out of her house on one of her family’s carts, I’ve heard they do business deals in Hightown.”

“Are you quite sure?  Her accent sounds Ferelden.”

“She could be lying.”

“Nonsense, Garon! Why would a mage lie about such a thing just to be placed in another circle?”

“I heard that one of the circles in Ferelden almost had the right of annulment evoked, perhaps she had been previously transferred to that circle and now has now has no place to go?”

“Poor dear, I hope that’s not the case!”

“It makes sense if it is. Her records might have even been destroyed in all the chaos.”

“The child is probably just trying to get home!”

“Then it’s decided.” Lelani said, turning back to Monique with an air of authority. “We will speak to First Enchanter Orsino about your destroyed records and then you will be transferred to Ostwick circle next month. In the meantime, you may stay here.”

Monique blinked, they… they had just woven their own story woven before her eyes and it was miraculously working out in her favor. This was either her longest streak of luck or Divine hands at work. She hoped it was the former, nothing good ever comes from divine intervention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What? Why are you laughing?"
> 
> ("I-I just can't get over the fact that, THAT actually happened! Divine intervention, no joke!)
> 
> "I thought it was a fitting title. Honestly, it was either that or 'The Ghosts Of The Past' but that seems a little too fiction-y."
> 
> ("Your entire story sounds fiction-y!")
> 
> "True, but it's too late to back out now. We're already three chapters in."


	4. Chapter 4

Well, howdy you beautiful people! 

First thing is first, I am planning on finishing this piece.   
However I am going to be editing these posted chapters before I upload more.   
The biggest changes will probably the removal of the second chapter and the fact that Leliana's ballad will actually be formatted like a song and hold a little less detail of the final battle and serve more as a brief summary of the Hero of Ferelden's adventures. Other changes will simply be grammar edits as I go over the posted material with a fine tooth comb. 

I hope you continue to enjoy this story! 

Dolly


End file.
